


Fight Me, Please!

by Aspera_Astra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Wrestling, F/M, Folkstyle Wrestling, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-28 09:45:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13901409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspera_Astra/pseuds/Aspera_Astra
Summary: Shiro convinces Keith to join the Voltron wrestling team. Lance wants to bully the first timer. Keith is having none of it.





	1. Chapter 1

## Chapter 1: An Invitation to Hell

* * *

By the time Keith found the wrestling room, tucked into a hidden, obscure corner of Voltron High School, practice had already started and Shiro was standing in the center of the black mat surrounded by thundering feet as his team jogged around him.

Keith hung back while Shiro called out orders, telling them to shuffle, karaoke, Frankenstein, and all sorts of other warm ups before yelling for them to sprint and then line up against a wall at one end of the room.

Shiro planted his hands on his hips and called “Forward rolls!” Thirty bodies dropped and rolled across the mat.

Keith hesitated, even though Shiro had already walked off the mat in his socks, his shoes still in Keith’s gloved hands. He didn’t want to interrupt practice, but the assistant coach definitely needed his wrestling shoes.

Suddenly a strong hand landed on his shoulder and Keith nearly jumped out of his skin.

“New, are you?” A woman with long silver hair and brilliant blue eyes grinned at him. Her cloud of hair was gathered into a bun at the top of her head, and her lithe frame did little to mask the bulging muscles that moved sinuously underneath her white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. “Don’t be shy, I see you have your own shoes. Feel free to join in.” She had a British accent that complimented her elegant and classy aura.

“Oh, no.” Keith held up the shoes. “I, uh, Shiro. Shiro asked me to bring him these.” He swallowed. “Would it be okay if I…?”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! You must be Keith!”

Keith just stared at her as she excitedly clasped his free hand. “I’m Allura, the head coach here. Shiro talks about you all the time.”

“Hi.” Keith muttered. “Uhm, can I give Shiro his shoes now, or…?”

Allura nodded, the widest of smiles on her face. “Oh, of course! Go on!” She gave him a not-so-gentle shove in Shiro’s direction.

Keith stumbled a bit, and he looked up to see some of the wrestlers eyeing him and flushed. He quickly made his way to Shiro’s side and tapped him on his good shoulder. “here.” He thrust the shoes at him. “You asked for these, and now that you have them, I’m leaving.”

Shiro turned to him, a soft smile on his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! You just got here!”

Keith recoiled a bit, a pained expression forming on his face. “Shiro…”

Shiro took the shoes from him, but he kept his gaze on Keith. “Stay for a bit, Keith!”

“Shiro.” Keith said, with a little more force this time. “We’ve already talked about this I’m not joining the wrestling team.”

“Hey, Matt, take over tumbling!” Shiro called to the other assistant coach. He turned back to Keith with an all too familiar expression. “I’m not asking you to flat out join right away, I’m asking you to just at least try. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I’m not wearing a leotard.” Keith deadpanned.

Shiro held back a sigh. “It’s not a leotard, it’s a singlet. And we don’t wear singlets to practice, look around.”

Keith’s eyes followed the forms of the wrestlers, all dressed in basketball shorts, sweats and shirts. Not a single one of them had a singlet on. “I don’t have shoes.” Keith tried.

“We have a shoe bin.” Shiro pointed to a corner of the room where rows of shoes sat on a shelf.

“What if I’m not good at this?” Keith’s frustration was beginning to show. His face scrunched up as he watched the majority of the wrestlers execute perfect elbow cartwheels.

“Nobody starts of perfect.” Shiro nodded his head towards one of the smaller boys who was lagging behind. The boy was falling forward on his face every time as he tried to go over his head and shoulders for the cartwheel. “Besides, you have martial arts experience. You’ll be fine.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Keith could feel Shiro mentally willing him to grab a pair of shoes and get on the mat. He caved.

“Fiiiiiiine.” He sighed. “I have a spare pair of sweats in my locker give me a second.”

Shiro beamed at him. “Come right back up and we’ll find a pair of shoes for you.”

Keith headed out the doors to the room and trudged down the stairs to the locker room. As he opened the door, a loud voice rang out, “Oh, man, Hunk! I just watched Jordan Burroughs’s entire 2011 Olympic playlist last night and damn I was blown away!”

Keith ducked his head, avoiding the eyes of whomever was also in the locker rooms, and darted toward his dark green locker at the back of the room.

He could hear the reply, a deep soft voice that said, “I know! His leg laces are the best!”

Keith threw on his black sweats and his spare red t-shirt and shoved his backpack into the locker before locking up.

“Man, I wish we did freestyle instead. Then we wouldn’t have to be worried about locking as much.” The higher pitched voice that sounded like it was straining his vocal chords said.

Keith winced. The sooner he was out of there, the better. He speed-walked out of the locker room with equal amounts of grace and awkwardness. God, he just had to humor Shiro this one time, then he could go back to his Netflix and homework.

He took the stairs two at a time and slowed as he got to the wrestling room doors. He peeked in through the window, watching as people took “shots”, as Shiro called them. Nobody was being taken to the mat, though, just drilling through the motions.

Keith tried to open the door as slowly and quietly as he could, but it creaked and moaned as if it had survived a thousand fires and floods and still bore the agony and pain. He saw heads glance up, but the drilling never stopped. He slid in, only to find Shiro at his side holding up a ratty pair of black and silver shoes.

He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“These are the only size of yours we had.” Shiro said, tossing the shoes at him. “They’re in pretty good condition, given how old they are.”

Keith just stared down at them in disgust.

Shiro patted him on the shoulder. “Tell you what, if you decide to join the team I’ll buy you a pair.”

“I told you, not happening.” Keith crabbed, slipping his boots off and tugging on the stinky shoes. They pinched the sides of his feet, and his Achilles tendon itched from where the shoe rubbed against it painfully. “I don’t think they fit very well.”

“You’ll be fine.” Shiro motioned for him to wipe his feet on a wet towel next to the mat. “Clean them off, and get warmed up. Jog a lap, do a couple shuffles, backward skips, and then we’ll find you a partner.”

While Keith wiped his feet, he surveyed the room. There was only one free person, but he was clearly at least a hundred pounds heavier than Keith. He grimaced, but stepped onto the mat, and tied up his hair into a quick short ponytail.

He was about to take off sprinting, but it was as if someone had glued his foot down on the mat. He tried to take a step but the shoe stuck and he nearly face planted onto the cushioned surface, stumbling a bit to regain his balance.

He heard muffled laughter, and whipped his head around to see a pair of reed-thin kids who barely came up to his chest drilling. They had obviously been snickering at him, however much they tried to cover it up. One looked away quickly once Keith met their eyes, but the other stared back defiantly with bright amber eyes.

He broke his gaze and looked down at his shoes. He scuffed the mat experimentally. The shoes gripped like double sided tape, the same feeling as scuffing basketball shoes against a hardwood floor except several times stronger.

Sighing, he started with a light jog, trying to get used to the sticky feeling of his shoes as they hit the mat. Several more times he stumbled, but just when he was getting the hang of it the doors to the wrestling flew open.

“We’re here! Sorry, we’re late!”

Keith recognized the deep voice from the locker room. He slowed his jog and peeked behind him. A heavy-set boy with dark skin and longish black hair had burst in. He was wearing light grey sweatpants and a baby blue t-shirt. Beside him, a long and lean boy with tan skin and dark brown hair stood in graphic fight shorts and a matching baby-blue t-shirt.

Allura walked up to the pair, her face schooled but there was an obvious rage burning beneath the mask of calmness. “Hunk… Lance… I hope you understand what being late means.”

“Sorry, Allura, we just finished a make-up chemistry test.” The black-haired boy apologized.

“Why didn’t you notify Shiro or I?” Allura asked, crossing her arms. “You have our emails and our numbers.”

“We forgot.” The tan skinned boy piped up. “Honestly, it won’t happen again.”

Allura’s eye twitched, hinting that this already happened more often than it should. “Very well, go warm up and then join your respective partners for some half shots. No finishes, are we clear?” She looked at the long and lean kid pointedly at the last part. “Lance?”

The two of them nodded before wiping off their feet and getting onto the mat.

“And the next time you’re late the whole team is paying for it!” Allura called after them.

Keith shook his head as he transitioned into shuffling. At that moment, the tan skinned boy, Lance, glanced up and met his gaze. His dark blue eyes widened and Keith saw his face scrunch into disgust.

Suddenly his foot caught, glued to the mat by the inexplicable grip force and he careened face first towards the shiny black rubber and foam. He ducked his head and rolled just in time, narrowly avoiding a pair of drilling wrestlers. He hit the ground running, face flushed with embarrassment. He snuck a glance at Lance, only to see him glaring at him.

Keith shot him a confused look before Lance suddenly took off. He slowed next to Keith, still glaring.

“You!” He shouted directly into Keith’s ear, poking him hard in the shoulder. Keith almost fell over again.

“I’m sorry?” Keith tried.

“What are you doing here?” Lance continued to shout.

Keith frowned. “Do I know you?”

Lance’s eyes went wide with indignation. He sputtered for a bit before yelling, “The hell? It’s me! Lance! You know? Keith and Lance? Neck and Neck?”

Keith _didn’t_ know. Lance continued to stare at him expectantly. A vague memory bubbled into his head from the depths of his long term memory. “Ohhhh… Lance. You face planted into the sand for long jump during sophomore year PE.”

Lance gasped. “Excuse you!”

Keith rolled his eyes, now comfortable with moving in the shoes. He began to skip backwards. Lance followed his example. Keith tripped a few times, but Lance kept it up like it was nothing, chattering away the entire time like an angry bee.

Keith breathed in heavily through his nose, tuned Lance out, and turned and sprinted towards Shiro. Lance let out a squawk of surprise as Keith blasted past him.

He slowed when he got to the assistant coach. “I’m ready.” He said.

“Perfect!” Shiro smiled. He looked over Keith’s shoulder and called, “Lance!”

Keith’s blood turned to liquid nitrogen. _Oh fuck._

Keith heard Lance’s footfalls as he joined them. “What’s up, coach?”

“I have the perfect drilling partner for you!” Shiro gestured to Keith.

“What?!” Lance planted a hand on each hip.

“Lance, this is Keith. Keith, this is Lance.” Shiro continued to say patiently. He gently pushed Keith’s shoulder to get him to face Lance.

Keith tried to put on a smile. Maybe Lance would be more amicable in the presence of his coach. No such luck, the other teen was still glaring at him sourly. “We know each other.” He glowered.

“That… That we do.” Keith muttered. He looked at Shiro pleadingly. _Please don’t make me wrestle this jerk._

“Is there a problem?” Shiro glanced between the two of them.

“I don’t want to drill with Mullet over here.” Lance said, crossing his arms. “I’m a senior wrestler, coach, I should be wrestling someone who challenges me.”

“Lance.” Shiro’s tone changed. It hardened a bit. “We can’t change what happened. Erik quit, and that’s his decision alone. You’re going to benefit more from a one on one than with a group of three. Besides, there’s no one else your weight.”

At the mention of “Erik”, the atmosphere in the room changed. There was a sort of tension, of mild anger, betrayal, sadness and nostalgia. Everyone seemed to slow, the shots less frequent.

Allura noticed too. “Up the intensity, come on! You should know what’s expected of you! Reps, reps, reps!” She clapped her hands several times to get her point across. The drilling instantly picked up speed and the wrestlers began contacting each other harder.

Shiro sighed. “You two are drilling partners. Lance, teach him the basics for now.”

“Shiro-“ Lance whined but Shiro cut him off.

“A good wrestler is also a good teacher. Think of this as a test of your abilities. If you can teach what you know, that means you’ve improved.” Shiro said. “Don’t disappoint us.” He hadn’t meant it in a mean sort of way, but Lance visibly stiffened.

Shiro left them, and Lance motioned for him to follow him to a distant corner of the mat. He gave Keith a once over, before sighing again.

“God, I’ve got my work cut out for me.” He moaned.

“Let’s hurry up and get this over with.” Keith muttered.

“Alright.” Lance, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “How much do you know about wrestling?”

“Uh…” Lance took that as his answer and smirked.

“Right,” He said, “let’s start with the most basic of shots. The double.”

Keith watched as Lance bent forwards, staggering his feet so his right leg was in front, bending his knees just so. “So, you’re going to have your hands out in front of you, and your lead leg knee hits the mat first –“ Lance’s right knee hit the mat, his other leg trailing behind it as he extended his arms and grabbed at an imaginary person, “-you get your hips under you, cut the corner, and drive up!”

Lance swiveled his legs to the side and pushed up to his feet, shuffling a few steps to his right. He straightened and put his hands on his hips triumphantly. “Now you try!”

Keith cocked an eyebrow but went with it anyways. He hunched over, his right leg in front, his arms bent like a t-rex’s. He felt awkward and unbalanced. He went to do the move but before he could even take a step Lance’s hands shot out to stop him.

“No, no, no!” Lance groaned. “Damn, your stance is horrible!”

Keith straightened and glared at him. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Lance slapped a hand to the small of Keith’s back, maybe a little harder than he needed to, and started to push him down forcefully. Keith ground his teeth but complied, bending at the waist.

“Back straight, don’t hunch!” Lance scolded. He pressed on the arch of Keith’s back until he stopped bending it. “Bend your knees more till you don’t have to bend them so much to touch the ground.”

Keith waited as Lance checked over his stance, telling him to adjust the width between his feet, to turn his foot straight instead of out. The process was agonizing, and Keith’s back was starting to hurt.

When Lance finally deemed him ready to take a shot, Keith awkwardly tried to imitate the smooth glide Lance had done. Instead, his movements were choppy. His knee slammed into the mat as if someone had kicked the back of it, and instead of sliding it stuck and he nearly lost his balance. He flailed his arms wildly.

He could tell Lance was smirking at him, and he growled with annoyance.

“That was terrible.” Lance said, crossing his arms. “That was literally the worst attempt at a double I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher.” Keith shot back.

“Hey!” Lance yelled, “It’s not my fault you suck!”

“Just hurry up and teach me the damn move before Shiro decides I need extra lessons!” Keith shouted back.

“Fine!” Lance growled. “Stance!” Keith got into his stance and once again, Lance stopped him. He took even longer this time, stressing over every little detail. In his head, Keith knew Lance was doing this to torture him. He could feel his back and legs starting to shake from the unnatural position they were in when Lance finally gave him the okay.

“Alright, watch me.” Lance said. He got into his stance as if it was nothing. His dark blue eyes hardened, concentrating on the space in front of him. Then he dropped his body lower, and Keith could see all the power coiling tight in him and then exploding as he launched himself forward like a spring.

His knee hit the mat, sliding a bit easily, his back leg coming up behind him smoothly as his arms encircled the imaginary hips of his opponent, pulling them into his chest as he drove into them. He was already flying to his feet, in a single graceful movement.

Keith watched the muscles in Lance’s body work, marveling at how effortless it was – “You got that?”

Keith’s eyes snapped up to Lance’s face. He hoped the corner of the room they were in was dark enough to hide his quickly reddening face. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He turned his head to look at the spot in front of him, focusing maybe just a little to hard on it. He shot, but it still felt weird and he almost toppled over.

“Better…” Lance was still frowning a bit. “Ah! Level change!” He clapped his hands together, his face brightening as he realized what one of the issues were. He quickly taught Keith how to get more power in his shot by simply lowering his body closer to the mat and pushing off his feet.

This helped immensely, but Keith was still losing his balance every time, and his knee refused to slide.

“Maybe you really do just suck at this.” Lance said.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Keith groaned, “I bet I could get this if Shiro was teaching me.”

“Hey!” Lance shouted, “At least I’m trying to teach a fart like you! I’m just as qualified as Shiro to teach you!”

Keith snorted. “Go shove your head in the nearest trash can, maybe then you’ll find your teaching credentials.”

Lance shoved Keith into a wall, which was thankfully lined with padding. “I’ll shove you in a trash can!” He kept Keith pinned there, digging his boney elbow into his chest.

Keith bared his teeth at Lance, and in one swift movement he kneed him hard in the chest with his left leg. Lance gasped audibly, doubling over.

Keith lifted his left leg again to teach Lance a valuable lesson – to never, EVER mess with someone like him – When Lance’s eyes went wide and he held up a hand to stop him.

Still doubled over, Lance groaned, “Oh shit - I mean shiz -, wait, wait, wait. I think I figured it out.” He straightened, hissing a bit as he stretched the muscles in his abused chest. Keith lowered his leg and waited for Lance to speak.

“Ugh, you’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” Lance grumbled as his face scrunched up – whether from pain or disgust Keith couldn’t tell. “Are you a freaking left leg lead?”

Keith blinked. “What?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t know, ugh. Just… Instead of having your right leg forward in a stance switch to your other leg.”

Confused, Keith did as he was told. At first it didn’t feel any different. He still felt awkward, and his back still ached.

“Try taking a double.” Lance instructed.

To Keith’s surprise, the movement was almost natural. His body flowed easily, sliding into the movement with almost the same grace as Lance. He came up, shuffling to his left. “I… I did it.” Keith murmured.

Lance still didn’t seem impressed though. “Yeah, yeah. It was still bad. Better, but still bad.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, excuse me Mr. Perfect I didn’t know I had to get an A on this exam.”

“Whatever, Lefty.” Lance snorted.

“Hey, what’s so bad about being left legged?” Keith objected.

“Well, obviously right leg leads are better!” Lance scoffed.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “How? How do you even prove that?”

“I’ll prove it to you by beating you right now, one on one full match!” Lance yelled.

“That wouldn’t work, there are too many unaccounted variables!” Keith countered.

“Oh, like what?” Lance mocked.

“Like how you have years of experience on me.”  Keith snapped.

“Oh, so you’re admitting I’m better than you.” Lance smirked.

“Only because you’ve been doing this longer!” Keith said before Lance could gloat more.

“I bet you couldn’t beat me even after a week of this!” Lance said, hands on his hips with his weight shifted to one side.

“I bet I can beat you after you finish teaching me the basics today!” Keith challenged. It was a dumb move, he knew. But he wasn’t about to get roped into wrestling for another week just because Lance didn’t know how to shut up. It was a risky gamble, but he knew how to fight. He had at least some chance of winning a duel against Lance. A duel? A… Game? A set?

Keith shook his head and waited for Lance to answer him. The slow smile that spread across Lance’s face made his stomach sink. “Deal!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance vs. Keith vs. line sprints.

## Chapter 2: For the Sake of Pride

* * *

 

Shiro called for a water break, and while Keith guzzled down his entire volume of water in his bottle he thought of ways he could beat Lance. He eventually realized that he didn’t even know the rules.

When the break was nearly over, Keith walked over to Shiro. “What are the basic rules I need to know going into a match.” He demanded.

Shiro blinked. “Uh… What’s this all of sudden?”

Keith shrugged. “I just need to know.”

“Lance challenged you, didn’t he.” Shiro deadpanned.

Keith said nothing but crossed his arms. Shiro bit back another sigh.

          “When?” He asked.

          “Today, after practice.” Keith replied.

          “That’s…” Shiro paused to find the right words. He exhaled sharply through his mouth, causing his white shock of hair to flutter. “That’s going to be rough. Lance has at least a year and a half on you.”

          “I know. But I know I can also lose points if I break the rules.” Keith said. “You complained about it to me all the time, that those simple mistakes could make or break a match. I want to be ready.”

          “Well…” Shiro hesitated, but really, what harm could a practice match do? “I can explain basic scoring later, so we’ll focus on technical rules. The ones you’d need to be worried about are clasping, stalling and rude behavior. Clasping is locking around the body. When the person in control locks around the body of their opponent while their opponent is still on their knees, that’s considered “illegal” and will cost you a point.”

          Keith’s brow furrowed. “Person in control?”

          “Right…” Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. “Lance hasn’t showed you top and bottom yet. Basically, the person in control is the person who is behind the other. They’re considered “on top”. The person in control is decided by who gets the takedown, which is worth two points. Takedowns are where when on person gets behind the other and if so much as their opponent’s hands touch the mat, they get the points.”

          “Okay… So if I’m in control and they’re still on their knees I can’t lock my arms around their body. But if their knees are off and their hands are on the mat can I?” Keith asked.

          Shiro shook his head. “Well, locking also applies to hands on the mat too. There are also a few legal locks, like around the legs, around the head and arm or just an arm. Illegal ones would be like around the waist or head.”

          “Head and arm?”

          Shiro motioned for Keith to come closer. He draped on arm around Keith’s neck, and slipped the other under Keith’s opposite arm and clasped his hands. “That’s a legal lock.”

          “Okay. What’s stalling?”

          Shiro let go. “Stalling is where one person, doesn’t matter if they’re in control or not, isn’t doing anything. If you’re in control, it could be that you’re not trying to pin the person, break them down, and just kind of holding them in place. From neutral, which is standing, you’re not taking shots you’re just blocking your opponent from doing anything. From bottom, or the person who isn’t in control, you’re not trying to escape their hold or reverse positions. An escape would get you one point, a reversal, meaning that you got control, would give you two.”

          Keith nodded, even though everything was starting to muddle in his head.

          “You’ll get a caution first before any points are given to your opponent.” Shiro said.

“I think I got it.”

          “And finally, rudeness.” Shiro looked pointedly at Keith. “I think this one speaks for itself, but knowing you I think you could use a reminder.”

          “Hey!” Keith punched his shoulder lightly. “Points deducting for rudeness, coach!”

          Shiro laughed, crinkling the scar on the bridge of his nose. “No slapping, swearing at the opponent, punching, or uncontrolled takedowns, also known as slamming. Slamming a person will get you a caution first, but later it will give a point to your opponent. Same goes for the aforementioned.”

          “I am not going to slap Lance.” Keith deadpanned.

          “You say that now,” Shiro chuckled, “But I doubt you’ll have that much restraint in a match against him.”

          “Why the fuck did I have to get paired with him?” Keith grumbled.

          “Hey!” Shiro lightly rapped him on the head, “No swearing in the room! It’s a general rule here and trust me, you don’t want to get on Allura’s bad side.”

          “Ack! Fine!” Keith waved Shiro’s arm away.

          “Water break’s over, back on the mat!” Allura barked.

          “Lance!” Shiro yelled. Lance whipped around, his joyful expression immediately melting into a sour puddle as soon as he spotted Keith with the assistant coach.

He made no move to go over to them and instead shouted back, “What’s up, coach?”

“Teach Keith how to sprawl and then some basic breakdowns from top and bottom as well as stand ups and a few pinning combos.” Shiro instructed.

“Yes, sir.” Lance said with a tight smile.

They spent the next hour in their corner working through each movement. Because Keith was left legged, Lance had to translate everything to make it lefty friendly, and Keith could tell it annoyed him greatly.

Lance started with a quick and easy swing single, which Keith picked up relatively easily until Lance started fighting to get his leg out of Keith’s hold when he went to bring it up. Huffing, he’d shot again, ducking under Lance’s arms and swinging around his left leg. Instead of lifting it up so the he would be standing, he’d simply dug his shoulder into the back of Lance’s knee.

Lance had yelped, crashing down on his hands and knees and Keith knew he’d gotten the takedown. Lance was furious that Keith had figured out how to “finish low” as he called it, and instead of praising him they went right along to top and bottom.

          Lance taught Keith the general referee’s position from bottom and top.

For top, it was one arm on the bottom person’s elbow, the other hand on their belly button, and the knee on the same side as the hand on the elbow on the ground. For bottom, he was down on his hands and knees, weight back on his heels and arms slightly bent so they wouldn’t break if someone “chopped” at his arm.

          Keith soon found out what a “chop” was, because without warning Lance chopped his hand into the inside of Keith’s elbow, effectively taking it out and pining it to his body then pushing him over it onto his face.

          “That, Mullet, is a breakdown.” Lance snickered as Keith peeled his face off of the mat. Keith resolved to learn only the most painful of moves to use on Lance.

          When Lance went to break him down again he resisted, refusing to go over or flatten out. The rest of the lesson went this way, with Keith brute forcing his way out of a half nelson by clamping his arm down over Lance's and ripping it off his neck and Lance banana splitting Keith.

          When Lance finally let Keith’s legs go, he rolled away, flopping over onto the mat to nurse the sore muscles of his inner thighs. The banana split, he learned, was one of the most painful moves out there. Lance had twisted a leg around his from top and bottom and threw his body so it was lying perpendicular across Keith’s back, and when he didn’t do anything Keith tried to stand up.

          That was a huge mistake. Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s other leg and arm and yanked him back, pulling his legs apart roughly till he could feel the sinuses in his muscles snapping like overstretched rubber bands.

          He used to worry about where he was putting his hands or whether or not his balls were in Lance’s face, but how the hell would anybody be worrying about awkward positions and proximity to balls when their legs were being ripped apart or they were being choked out?

          He grimaced, willing for the pain between his legs to die down. All too soon, Allura was calling for them to line up against the back wall for conditioning.

          Keith got up and hobbled over to where everyone else was gathering.

          “Alright, Paladins,” Allura said, “First up we have a line sprint.”

          The entire team groaned.

          “For those of you who don’t know, a line sprint is where you touch the lines that separate each mat. You touch a line, go back to the start, run to the next one over, go back, and so on.” Allura explained. “Everyone must make it back under 40 seconds. And I mean EVERYONE.”

          “Alright, split yourselves into two groups!” Matt, another one of the assistant coaches, yelled.

          Keith was about to hang back so he could see what to do when Lance grabbed his arm and yanked him forward into the first group.

          “What the hell?” Keith shouted.

          “I, am going to prove that I am faster than you.” Lance said.

          Keith blinked, then squinted at him. “What?”

          “Shiro was talking with Pidge, Hunk and I and since you’re new and Shiro knows you, you became the subject of one of our conversations.” Lance said matter-of-factly. “Shiro kept boasting about how fast you are, so I told him I could beat you and I’d prove it.”

          “Shiro!” Keith whirled around, eyes blazing.

          Shiro held up his hands. “I said nothing. I only said that you were the fastest human I knew.”

          Keith groaned.

          Lance jabbed him in the rib with a boney finger. “What, giving up already? Admitting defeat to the handsome, speedy lance?”

          Keith snorted while Lance made vogue-poses. “In your dreams, Sir Prance-a-lot.”

          Lance let out an indignant yelp. “Fine. We’ll see who’s laughing when I wipe the mat with your face.” The two of them lined up side by side on the starting line.

          The digital timer on the wall ticked down from ten. “Start when the beeper goes off!” Matt said, before stepping back to lean against the wall, well out of the way of any oncoming wrestlers.

          Keith stopped watching the clock and focused on the vast expanse in front of him. Five lines, including the opposite edge. This should be a piece of cake.

          The beeper sounded and Keith took off, tapping the closest line, a mere big step away, before dashing for the second line. He ignored the thunder of feet around him, the sound of Lance moving beside him as he stretched his limbs as far as they would go to maximize efficiency.

          As he was forced to run farther and farther his strides began to stretch into leaps until he was flying across the mat, the air around him whipping his black hair out of its ponytail.

          He was starting to feel the burn, the tightening and dryness of his throat, the tensing of his muscles as they bunched up to give him that final push as he barreled towards the starting line on his final line sprint.

          And then Lance was crowding him, arms akimbo, legs drumming the floor with each footfall like the crack of thunder as he desperately tried to keep up with Keith.

          Keith let out a puff of air, knowing he could easily outrun Lance. With a deep breath he blasted forward and blew past the second group waiting at the line and crashed face first into the padded wall.

          As he ripped his face from the padding, he whirled around, wobbling on his legs, and pointed at Lance. “I. Win.” He gasped.

          Lance glared at him, also breathing hard, but somehow he was able to get more words out than Keith. “No way! Just wait till the next round, Mullet, I’ll win for sure!”

          Suddenly, a small stick barreled into Lance, who emitted a loud, “oof!” on impact.

          “Good job, Lance! You beat your personal best by miles!” The stick peeled off of him revealing themselves to be one of the lightweights who had snickered at him at the beginning of practice.

          “Oh man, Pidge!” Lance’s face lit up with excitement, “What’d I get?”

          “22 seconds! If you’re not careful, Allura and Shiro might cut down the time to 30!” Pidge said. “And when that happens, I’ll fight you into submission.”

          Lance laughed, rubbing the short angry lightweight on the head, mussing their fluffy mop of dark blonde hair. “Sure, when you actually hit a clean double.”

          Pidge whacked him over the head with their skinny arms.

          “What am I missing?” Hunk panted, jogging up to the small group.

          “Pidge wants to fight me when Allura and Shiro decide we can run this under 30 seconds.” Lance snorted. “I told them the day they beat me would be the day they actually hit a clean double.”

          Hunk laughed, an instantaneous burble of hearty chuckles. “Good one, Lance!”

          “Hey, it’s not fair that you guys have two years of high school experience on me! And you’ve got a good 130 pounds on me!” Pidge poked Hunk in the belly.

          “Hey!” Hunk yelped. “You know I’m ticklish, stop that!”

          Keith watched the trio trade light and easy banter, laughter trailing every sentence. He hadn’t thought it possible for Lance to be considered tolerable, given every interaction they’d had was sour, but here he was watching as Lance’s face contorted into the most ridiculous expressions as he teased his friends.

          His smiles were always huge. Bright. The corners of his dark blue eyes would crease, his nose scrunching up as he laughed. It was kind of adorable. _Adorable_. Keith blinked. _What?_

          “First group, up! Line sprint!” Matt called.

          “Ready, Mullet?” Lance dug his elbow into Keith’s ribs.

Keith groaned internally, and got ready to sprint for the sake of his pride. “Eat my dust.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally they fight.

##  Chapter 3: First Match

Three more line sprints later and a few other miscellaneous conditioning drills, Lance proved that he had better endurance, though Keith had refused to let Lance get a solid lead on him to the point where he nearly collapsed in Hunk’s arms when he ran right into him on the final run.

His chest heaving, head dizzy and stomach just about ready to empty all of its contents on to the mat, Keith wondered why he had let himself get roped into this. Humoring Shiro was one thing, but humoring Lance?

Keith flopped onto his back and stared up at the bright hanging gym lights. He felt Lance’s footsteps through the pull of the mat before he even saw his face. Sighing, he sat up and hoisted himself back onto his wobbly legs.

“What do you want.” Keith grumbled.

“Oh, we still have a match, remember?” Lance said, chest puffed out confidently with his hands on his hips. He was wearing his head gear, two black pads made of a similar material as the mats with white straps fitted over his head. “Ready for me to kick your ASS, Mullet?”

Keith glared at him.  “Don’t cry when I smash your head in on the mat.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance stuck his tongue out at him, then turned and yelled, “SHIRO! Come ref our match!”

Keith could see the slump in Shiro’s shoulders and the not-so-subtle roll of his eyes. “Alright, Lance,” Shiro said as he walked over to them, “But don’t underestimate him.”

Lance only smirked. The three of them walked to the center of the mat. Keith could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on him as he and Lance got into stances across from each other.

Shiro rolled his shoulders, then explained some basic scoring. “Takedowns are worth two, reversals are worth two, you can get up to three points near fall which is where your opponent is more than 90 degrees towards their back but not pinned, an escape is worth one and a pin is when both shoulders hit the mat. Got it?”

Everything had flown over Keith’s head, but he nodded anyways, never tearing his gaze away from Lance’s. The butterflies that had been slumbering peacefully in his stomach were now awake a wrecking havoc on his digestive system. His palms felt sweaty and his throat and mouth were chalk dry.

“Shake hands.” Shiro said.

As soon as their hands touched, all the light cocky confidence in Lance’s smile disappeared and an eerie calm settled over his features. His eyes narrowed slightly, laser focused on Keith.

Shiro’s prosthetic arm glinted as it temporarily slid between their gazes. Then he lifted his arm up and called, “wrestle!”

Lance was on him, grabbing his upper arms, “hand fighting” as he had taught him earlier, and Keith’s mind went blank. 

All he could remember to do was not let Lance get his arms inside his. He flailed, fighting to keep his hands inside, but Lance only quickened his pace. 

And then suddenly he was shooting, disappearing in a heartbeat as he lowered himself closer to the ground. Lance blasted forward, pushing off of his back leg and hooked an arm around Keith’s left leg, his other hand still gripping Keith’s tricep.

In one swift movement Keith felt his body arcing over Lance, slamming into the mat. He couldn’t tell if he had just been shot on or thrown. It didn’t matter, because he was immediately fighting to belly down, as Lance had taught him.

He could feel Lance working his way into a better position, and as soon as he managed to get onto his stomach, he got his knees under him, ready to explode into a stand up. Or at least, he tried.

Only, Lance was keeping him flat with his arm pinned behind his back, Keith’s elbow bent around Lance’s in a sort of chicken wing. As soon as Lance started pushing Keith’s shoulder to his ear, Keith started panicking.

The move hurt, and as Lance circled his head, he felt himself going over to relieve him of the immense pain. His back hit the mat and Shiro was right beside them, ready to count near fall points and judge whether or not Lance had pinned him.

_Oh, hell no._ Keith gritted his teeth and thrust his hips up, arching his back so that his shoulders were off the mat and he was balancing on his forehead and the tips of his toes. Lance yelped as he nearly slid off of Keith.

Clenching his jaw, Keith twisted his body and stepped over Lance’s slipping form, stretching his torso like taffy as he contorted and flipped over Lance. Lance let go of Keith’s head immediately, and Keith heard Shiro calling “Two, reversal!”

His eyes glanced to the whiteboard on the other side of the room as he sat on top of Lance, and he saw Pidge, the skinny mousy haired kid, tallying scores. Lance was winning with five points – Keith forgot how, but Shiro would probably tell him later – and Keith felt a surge of pride as Pidge marked down two points for him.

Suddenly his body lurched and he dug his hands into Lance’s back. Lance was moving underneath him, bringing his knees under him, shaking his body as he squirmed his way to referee’s position.

Keith slid back to avoid falling off, assuming the top position for referee’s. A few breakdowns were coming back to mind, and he tightened his hold around Lance’s waist and chopped at his arm.

Lance wouldn’t go down easy, however. He sat out, and the instant Keith chopped at his arm, he circled on his head, butt in the air, and Keith tried desperately to follow him, refusing to give him the escape.

In one swift movement, Lance hooked Keith’s leg closest to him, grabbed the arm around his waist and rolled Keith to his back. Without a leg and an arm Keith couldn’t do what he’d done earlier. Instead, he wriggled and tried to roll out of Lance’s hold, fighting his grip.

He was sure he was going to get pinned, though he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. He struggled to keep one shoulder off the mat as Lance leaned all of his weight onto him, his shoulder blades digging into Keith’s stomach, when suddenly the beeper went off.

“Time!” Shiro called. “Good job, Keith. You survived to second period!”

Keith felt the pressure on his chest release as Lance rolled away from him. He expected Lance to be screaming something about referee bias or shrieking about how that was completely a pin.

Instead, the other teen said nothing, his gaze still laser focused on some unknown point in the far-off distance. It was quite the look for him, given his normally goofy and arrogant air.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice brought him back to the match.

He felt a blush starting to creep up the back of his neck. “Oh, sorry. What is it?”

“What do you want? It’s your choice.” Shiro said.

Oh, right. Lance had explained a bit of this. The referee would flip a chip with a red side and a green side. The colors corresponded to anklets wrestlers wore during matches. Whichever color the chip landed on, the wrestler with the matching anklet would choose one of four choices; top, bottom, neutral, or defer. Lance had also mentioned that coaches usually helped you make the choice.

Keith looked at Shiro for help.

“I would suggest you defer.” Shiro said. “It’s common tactic among coaches. It’s usually better to be the one to pick later in the match.”

“Defer, then.” Keith said.

Shiro made a hand motion, crossing his hands like he was saying “no way”. “Do this.”

Keith copied him.

Shiro turned to Lance. “Red defers to green.”

Lance made a hand gesture, his hands parallel.

“Green chooses neutral.” Shiro’s voice dropped out of its neutral referee voice as he looked Lance dead in the eye. “You better get the takedown first.”

Lance only nodded.

Shiro turned to Keith. “And Keith, try to sprawl. Just get your legs back as far as you can away from Lance.”

“Oh, come on, Shiro, that’s not fair! Helping out my opponent…” Lance’s annoying persona was back.

Shiro chuckled. “This is just a learning experience, Lance. He’ll need all the advice he can get.”

Lance pouted at Shiro, his bright eyes narrowing and his lips puckering into a sour frown. Keith bit back a smile.

All expressions were wiped off their faces as soon as they assumed neutral position, facing each other on their feet.

Shiro stuck his hand between them, then with the sound of the beeper he called, “Wrestle!”

Lance was on him again, his grip iron. Keith tried to fight it, but Lance was already pulling his arm down, shooting low to hook his other arm around his leg. Keith kicked his legs back, far away from Lance.

At first it seemed to work, because Lanced hesitated a little. Then he jerked Keith’s arm down and threw him onto his back. His arm slid under Keith’s arm for a half nelson. Before Lance could get on him Keith was already bridging as if his life depended on it.

“Oh, come on!” Lance shrieked.

“Breakdowns, Lance!” Shiro reminded him.

Lance groaned. Keith twisted his body, but Lance kept him from stepping over, forcing himself to flatten out against the mat on his stomach.

Keith looked away from the side the half nelson was on and peeled it off, clamping his arm down on Lance’s, then mustering all the strength he had he forced his knee under him and arced his back like a cat, ready to explode.

He exploded up, blocking Lance’s arms from locking around him once he was on his feet, leaning back and fighting Lance’s hands until he was certain he could get away.

He whirled around, sinking into his stance, smirking at Lance as Shiro called, “One point red, escape!”

“I thought someone here was pretty confident they could pin me in the first period.” Keith teased.

Lance didn’t say anything as he latched on to Keith. Keith probably should have seen it coming, since it was the only shot Lance had been doing.

But that didn’t change the fact he still let out a gasp of surprise as he found himself flying through the air and onto his back again.


	4. Chapter 4

## Chapter 4: Winner Winner Boba Dinner

* * *

 

Lance won. Not that he was surprised. But man, was he pissed.

          After he’d hopped out of the showers, gone through his extensive moisturizing routine and pulled on some clean clothes, he stood outside the locker rooms impatiently waiting for Hunk to finish getting dressed.

          When Hunk finally made an appearance he exploded, his mouth opening and unleashing a storm of words. “Finally! Oh my god, can you believe that guy? His wrestling was absolute shit, but he just wouldn’t let me pin him, that… that…”

          Hunk sighed. “Lance, Keith’s a fighter. He’s not just going to give up because someone is beating him down.”

          “Agh!” Lance cried. “He couldn’t even get a decent takedown! The one time he shot on me, it was absolute bullshit. I probably sprawled the slowest I’ve ever done in my life and still got around him!”

          The third period, after Lance had fucked up and Keith had bridged again, preventing a pin from happening, Lance had decided to give Keith a little leeway out of the generosity of his kind heart and let him set up his own shot.

          It had been the shittiest shot he’d ever seen. Even shittier than Pidge’s wobbly doubles. At least they could hit a sick ankle pick. Keith had given him ages of time to sprawl, a fact he demonstrated by slowly sliding his legs back and digging his hips into Keith’s shoulders, letting the pressure mount on Keith as he attempted to finish his shot.

          Then he had spun around him, and Keith hadn’t even reach out an arm to try and stop him.

          And still. Lance couldn’t pin him. He could break him down a million times, turn him over with the weakest half, and he’d go right to his bridge and no matter what Lance tried Keith would stay strong. It resulted in a stalemate in the third period followed by a caution on Lance for stalling, since he wasn’t technically doing anything except trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

          He had won 11-3, but the fact he wasn’t able to end it all in at most thirty seconds left a sour taste in his mouth.

          “Well, it’s not like Keith isn’t in shape.” Hunk said as they walked down the corridor to the stairs. “I mean, when it was your first year with Erik you couldn’t break him down even though you were both bad because he was stronger – ohhhhhhkaaay, whoops.”

          Lance knew his expression had melted, his entire face drooping into a quiet sorrow. Erik. They had promised to go to state together. They had promised to always lookout for each other, to help each other get better. It had all been over so fast.

          “Hey, I’m sorry for bringing him up, buddy.” Hunk rubbed Lance’s shoulder. “You know what? Let’s go to Lulu’s and grab some ice cream –“

          “Hunk,” Lance laughed weakly, “We’re cutting weight.”

          “Oh. Right.” Hunk rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

          “Not that I need to lose anything to look good.” Lance brightened, striking a few poses. He was done bringing everyone down. It effected his wrestling and it effected their wrestling too.

          A groan echoed behind them. “Oh please, don’t start.”

          “Pidge!” Lance bounded towards them. He lifted them in the air easily, backpack and all. “My grumpy nerdy angel! How was my epic battle against Keith, hm?”

          “Terrible.” Pidge deadpanned. “Now put me down.”

          Lance frowned and practically dropped them.

          “Hey!” Pidge shrieked, nearly losing their balance on the slick floor. They punched Lance hard in the chest. “It’s only the beginning of the season, I don’t need my career to be over before it’s started.”

          Lance “oofed”, clutching his chest. The pain from the spot where Mullet had first kneed it flared to life. “Owwww….” He whined. “Pidge, why’d you have to hit me there? Tall dark and emo kneed me in the chest earlier!”

“Jeez, Lance, what’d you do?” Pidge scolded. “Cross face him too hard?”

“Well, Shiro did say he has a short temper.” Hunk said.

“Well, who cares about him!” Lance said, taking the stairs up two by two. “He’ll be gone after today, anyways.”

“Lance, did you bully him?” Hunk chided.

“What, no! I’m not that mean!” Lance scoffed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his olive-green jacket. “He told me himself he wasn’t joining the team! Shiro just got him to cave one time.”

“Everyone is weak to Shiro.” Hunk agreed. “Remember when he got Matt to drive us to that tournament three hours away at four am?”

“Matt’s a different case entirely.” Lance snorted.

“Yeah, Matt has a particular soft spot for him.” Pidge wiggled their eyebrows and they all broke down with laughter.

Lance was already feeling better. He began skipping to Hunk’s mud colored van. “Okay, so I know I vetoed sweets earlier, but man I could really go for some boba. A little victory celebration for beating Mullet!”

“Boba? I’m in.” Pidge said.

“Aren’t you supposed to go home with Matt?” Hunk crossed his arms.

“Well, yeah, but I’d rather get PMT than listen to him whine about his crush on Shiro.” Pidge yanked the sliding door to the van open. “He can survive without me, I’ll just shoot the family group chat a text.”

Lance hopped into the front seat with Hunk. “Huh, I should probably text my mom I’ll be out later too and to push the facetime back to ten.”

“Can you text my parents too?” Hunk said as he started up the car. “I promised them I’d text them right after practice.”

“Sure thing, bud.” Lance’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Done and sent.”

The drive to the boba shop in downtown was noisy. Lance had turned up the radio to its highest volume, shrieking Shakira while Hunk tried to sing a long and Pidge screaming at them to shut up and then resorting to recording it all for blackmail later.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Lance spotted a shiny red motorcycle in the spot next to them, and promptly hurtled out of the van to admire it. It looked brand new, or at the very least well taken care of, in a shimmering cherry red hue.

“I wonder whose bike this is.” He said, “Because man, I would love to take her for a spin.”

“It is a pretty nice bike.” Pidge agreed, adjusting their glasses. “Looks like a custom build. What do you think, Hunk?”

“Definitely custom.” Hunk nodded.

“I hope some hot red-headed chick owns it.” Lance grinned.

Pidge groaned. “Lance, could you not flirt with every girl once we get into the shop?”

“I’ll stop when you stop wearing your faux glasses.” Lance countered.

“Hey, that isn’t fair.” Pidge objected. “These have sentimental value.”

Lance didn’t argue back. Instead he skipped into the boba shop, relishing the smell of sweet tapioca and the hum of conversations around him.

Hunk and Pidge got into line after him. While Hunk and Pidge bickered over whether or not they should try a new drink, Lance stood thoughtfully squinting at the menu.

Lance had a forever changing palette. Suffice to say, he wanted only the sweetest, most tooth rotting drinks on the menu. However, he did drink according to the season and his mood, and right now, he could really go for a warm Thai tea with pearls and pudding and mango popping boba.

The line moved slightly and Lance shuffled forward, aware that many people from his school were here. He put on his typical charming smile, shot a few finger guns at girls, and tried to look casual as he leaned on a table.

_Geez, isn’t the person in front of me taking a bit too long to order?_ Lance wondered. He turned to look at the person ahead of him in line. He hadn’t been paying attention, but the cropped faded red jacket and mess of black hair left him with a familiar feeling of sickness, irritation and dread. The realization hit him like a slap in the face – or a knee to the chest.

Keith was talking with the cashier in some foreign language, and he looked like he was struggling which made Lance smirk.

Without thinking, Lance kicked the back of Keith’s ankle. Keith jolted and whirled around, eyes ablaze. “What the hell –“ He stopped as soon as his dark stone colored eyes landed on Lance. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah. And I’m trying to get some boba and you’re holding up the line.” Lance crabbed. “You done ordering?”

Keith narrowed his eyes at him. He looked like he wanted to start something, but he shut his mouth and stepped aside. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Lance stepped up to the cashier, stuck his tongue out at Keith when he was sure he wasn’t looking, then turned back to order.

“Let’s seeeeeee…. I’ll have a Thai tea with no ice, pudding, pearls and mango popping boba.” Lance said.

He heard a snort and whipped his head to glare at Keith, who was leaning against the counter nearby with his arms crossed.

“Is there a problem with my choice of drink?” Lance said.

“Nothing,” Keith said, “Just that I’m not sure how you haven’t died from all that sugar yet.”

Lance gasped. “Excuse you! All that sugar is what makes me so sweet and charming!”

“More like so sweet your teeth’ll rot.” Keith retorted.

“Uh, can we not start something here?” Hunk said. “Guys?”

“What the hell did you order then?” Lance snapped.

“Black tea with pearls, 50% ice, no sweetness.” Keith replied.

Lance made a face. “Ew. Is that why you look so constipated all the time?”

“Hey,” Keith growled, “At least I don’t have to worry about my teeth falling out.”

“At least I don’t look like a stink bug.” Lance shot back.

“Lance!” Pidge shoved him out of the way and marched up to the cash register. “Take your petty squabbles elsewhere, _you’re_ holding up the line now.”

“Whatever.” Keith muttered. He grabbed a drink from the pickup station, checked to make sure it matched the number on his receipt, and started to head for the exit.

It was then that Lance noticed the cherry red helmet under his arm, and he swore. “ _Mullet_ drives that beauty?”

He watched as Keith plopped the helmet over his head, stuck the keys into ignition and the bike roared to life. He ignored the fact that Keith admittedly looked amazingly badass on the shiny vehicle.

His eyes shot daggers as Keith shot out of the parking lot at a speed that was hardly legal. They got back to the dorms around eight, stumbling into the small one room apartment the three of them shared with tired eyes and mountains of homework awaiting them.

Lance tried to do his history homework but passed out on top of the textbook. His body positively ached from pushing himself so hard at practice. He hadn’t felt this way since… Since… He woke up to his alarm and his body screaming from the trials of yesterday.

He almost screamed when he realized he hadn’t finished the rest of his night time routine and had slept in the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He tried to convince himself that the effects of skipping one day of his precious routine weren’t showing, but when that didn’t work he distracted himself by agonizing over the homework he hadn’t finished due in the next couple of hours.

He skipped breakfast in favor of finishing his work, spent the rest of his classes half listening to lectures and half doing work for other classes, and by the time school was over he was dreading coming to practice.

He hoped Allura wouldn’t grill them too hard today. He trudged down to the locker rooms and changed while moaning to Hunk about how sore he was. Hunk pointed out he wouldn’t be this sore if he hadn’t kept trying to fight Keith on everything.

They clambered up the stairs and threw their belongings into the cubbies in the little nook. As Lance was lacing his shoes he heard the doors open.

“Keith!” Shiro was at the door in a heartbeat and Lance felt his face contort with disgust. He peeked over his shoulder to see the pale boy with disheveled dark hair greeting Shiro with an awkward hug.

“Did you change your mind about coming back?” Shiro asked hopefully.

“Oh, no. I came to return these.” Keith held up a positively revolting pair of wrestling shoes. They had once been a pristine pair with silver designs lacing up the sides. Now they had been reduced to ratty torn flaps with fraying laces.

“Oh. Well, if you change your mind you can always come back.” Shiro offered.

“No, I –“

“Chicken.” Lance was sure he’d said it quietly, pretty much whispered it, but Keith stopped mid-sentence and his eyes flickered to Lance. He narrowed them.

“Excuse me?” He said.

Great. No going back now. “I think,” Lance said, getting up, “That someone is too chicken to continue.”

“Lance.” Shiro said in a warning tone.

“No, Shiro. I will not be silenced.” Lance held up a finger. “Keith is too chicken to continue because he realized he could never beat someone as fabulous as me.”

“That is not true.” Keith growled.

“So what’s stopping you from coming back?” Lance shot back. “If I remember correctly, no one. You live on your own, you make your own rules, right?” He had never seen Keith go home with anyone before, so he assumed as much.

Keith glared at him. “I’m not wrestling.”

“You’re not wrestling because you’re afraid of getting hurt. You’re afraid I’ll beat you. Again.” Lance smirked.

“I’ve taken a hundred times worse beatings than you could ever give me.” Keith snapped.

“Oh, cry me a river! If that’s true then how come wrestling seems to be the one you can’t handle?” Lance countered.

Keith snatched the shoes out of Shiro’s hand. “One more day!” He said, “Just one more, and I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”

Keith stormed off down towards the locker rooms.

Shiro gave Lance a perplexed look. “That… I’ve spent years trying to convince that kid to join, and _that’s_ all it takes?”

Lance grinned. “Trust me, I’m a master of manipulation.”

“You know, Lance,” Shiro crossed his arms, “If he stays he’s going to be your drilling partner.”

Lance froze. “Aw, frick no!”

Pidge laughed from their spot on the mat. “How did you not see that coming?”

“Shut up,” Lance grumbled, “I’ll just have to give him hell to make him leave, then.”


	5. Chapter 5

## Chapter 5: Attractive Lighting

* * *

 

Keith flopped face first on his bed in the apartment he shared with Shiro. He was double dead, triple dead, quadruple dead.

No thanks to Lance. He didn’t even have the energy to complete his homework or turn on Netflix. He let out a silent scream before crawling under the covers, trying to sleep off the pain that dogged his muscles.

He and Lance hadn’t sparred this time. But that didn’t mean it was any better. They’d spent the entirety of practice focusing on shots and defending them. And Lance hadn’t been going easy.

Every time Keith went to shoot Lance blocked him instantly. And every time Lance shot it was without warning and he barely had any time to get his legs back let alone jam Lance’s head under him.

He had gotten so frustrated that they went from drilling the moves to full on scrambles, rolling around on the mat until Matt came over to scold them.

After practice, he had taken a long shower. Shiro wouldn’t let him go to bed without one, lecturing about skin diseases and ringworm. So he had used the time to think.

Wrestling, he decided… Wasn’t all that bad. Sure, it was a pain in terms of being a huge commitment and working his entire body to the bone. But he was having a lot of fun. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. Sure, Lance was an annoying pain in the ass, but it felt nice to get all the aggression out of his system and focus it on one annoying loudmouthed dot.

He tried to drift off to sleep, but his brain wasn’t having it. So many thoughts were left buzzing in his brain after practice. The tangled web of conspiracy theories that normally occupied his thinking space were replaced by thoughts of wrestling.

_I need to keep my head up when I shoot._ Keith thought.

_I need to get to my shots faster too, a good fake should do it. And I can’t be distracted._

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tighter, trying to erase the image of Lance backlit against the fading afternoon light filtering through the windows, pensive as he ran through a million moves in his head. The way the light followed the curve of his forehead, clung to his lashes and traced the edges of his lips in gold.

_Don’t. Get. Distracted._

In the end, the image haunted him, forcing its way into his dreams. Tired of looking at silent Lances basking in afternoon sunshine, Keith had woken up, pulled out a canvas from behind his bed, and set up for another long night.

Around three a.m., Shiro pushed the door to Keith’s room open. The lamp on his desk cast warm orangey rays of light onto Keith’s sleeping form, curled up on the floor surrounded by tubes of paint, paint brushes and turpentine jar. My Chemical Romance was blaring softly out of the headphones connected wirelessly to his phone.

He peeked around the corner at the newly painted masterpiece. It clearly wasn’t finished, be he could tell exactly what had been running through Keith’s mind. He treaded lightly, wary of creaky floorboards and scattered paint tubes.

He picked up Keith’s lithe form gently and laid him in his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Keith stirred, rolling to his side. Shiro plugged Keith’s phone into a charger by the bed, killed the music, and shut off the lamp.

When Keith woke up the next morning, he had a pounding headache and a feral need for caffeine in his system. He groggily registered the smears of oil paint on his hands and arms that had no doubt also gotten all over his covers. He groaned and rolled out of bed.

His body ached like a burning acid-oil had seeped its way between his muscles and ate at their walls. It hurt to even twitch or smile.

He stumbled into the kitchen, where Shiro was sipping coffee and reading the paper. He had probably been up for a couple hours now after going for his usual early morning jog around the city.

Keith grabbed the coffee pot, a mug, and poured himself a glass. He spilled 60% of what he poured, the coffee sloshing wildly as he scrambled to get the mug to his lips.

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him. It was like watching a man who had been trapped in the desert for eighty days receive a glass of water.

Keith chugged it all down.

“I still don’t understand how you like it just like that.” Shiro said, looking back down at the newspaper.

“I just do. And it’s not like you haven’t had it straight black either.” Keith grumbled, wiping the drips of coffee from his mouth.

Shiro let out a puff of air, his shock of white hair fluttering as he did so. “Not when I’m a sane, rational human being.” He reached for his own mug, his metal hand clinking against the white ceramic. He winced at the sound.

“I don’t understand why you like putting cinnamon and nut juice in yours.” Keith snorted.

Shiro made a face as he sipped. “Don’t say it like that. Almond and coconut milk are delicious. And cinnamon makes everything taste better.”

“Ever heard of the cinnamon challenge?” Keith replied, pouring himself another cup a little more gracefully this time.

“Yep.” Shiro said. “Doesn’t change the fact that cinnamon tastes good. It just proves too much of a good thing is bad.”

Keith hummed in answer, then stretched. His back popped a few times, and he could see Shiro wincing at the cracks in his peripheral vision.

“You should avoid sleeping on the floor.” Shiro said.

“I woke up in my bed.”

“I put you to bed.”

Keith froze. “So, then you saw…?”

Shiro grinned, flicking the newspaper up higher. “You know, for someone who says they “hate” Lance, you paint him in a pretty good light.”

Keith groaned. “I don’t hate him. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Why? Is there something I’m not getting?” Shiro smirked behind his paper.

“I just liked the lighting!” Keith blurted. “It was good lighting! He looked good!”

“Are you admitting that Lance is attractive?” Shiro pushed.

Keith sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, yes.” When Shiro opened his mouth, Keith cut him off. “Lance is attractive. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve met plenty of attractive people. Hell, I think you’re attractive, Shiro! But that doesn’t mean I want to… That I have any… Feelings. You know.”

“I understand.” Shiro smiled sincerely. “That painting is amazing, by the way. You should show him.”

“Never.” Keith swore.

“Not even when it’s finished?” Shiro probed.

“Who said I was going to finish it?” Keith snapped.

“Alright, alright.” Shiro held up his hand in surrender. “I was just asking.”

Keith’s classes were all a blur. He’d walk into the room, take his seat, answer another round of questions, get back a test with a perfect A, rinse and repeat. When the lunch bell sounded, he took off towards one of the more secluded courtyards.

As a child, he used to wander the halls of Voltron High School while his parents worked, exploring every nook and cranny. He used to dream of going here. Now he was and the dream was only a shadow of what it used to be.

This part of the school had an abandoned feel to it. Nobody ventured this far because they believed there was nothing worthwhile here. But the custodial staff still kept it clean, and as empty as it seemed Keith knew this was just another hall full of conference rooms for board meetings and a few teacher offices and studios.

He had considered getting a permit to use one of the studios, but he had never gotten along well with the faculty and decided it was too much trouble worth going through.

His favorite courtyard was filled with hydrangeas and chrysanthemums, in pastel pinks and blues. The wooden bench rested against a wall under an arbor of wisteria. The wisteria and chrysanthemums were long gone, but the hydrangeas would continue to flourish in waves.

Keith took a seat on the worn bench and set his messenger bag down beside him.

He unwrapped the sandwich Shiro had forcefully handed to him, insisting that he’d get sick if he ate anymore cafeteria food.

Shiro had adequate cooking skills, enough to toast bread and make a ham and cheese sandwich, and though it was probably cleaner and maybe a tad healthier than the cafeteria food it was bland.

He was enjoying the quiet, listening to birds flitter around in the early winter chill, when an irritatingly familiar voice rang out from one of the open air corridors.

“See, I told you we haven’t been this way before!”

Keith stiffened.

“I don’t know, Lance, this place gives me the creeps.”

“Aw, come on, Hunk! Didn’t we make it our mission to map the entirety of Voltron High since they can’t do it themselves?” Lance’s mop of brown hair came into view along with Pidge and Hunk trailing him.

Keith groaned as he thought back to practice. Lance was probably going to bully him about wrestling again, and Shiro would flip if he got called to the main office again over another one of Keith’s “misdemeanors”. He wondered if it was too late now to run.

“Hey, Pidge! How’s the digital mappy thingy going?” Lance asked as they turned the corner, where Keith would be directly in their line of sight.

“Shit.” Keith got up, ready to bolt but a wisteria branch snagged the back of his blazer. He began to tug gently, trying to wrest the fabric from the branch without ripping it.

“Fine. We should have a 3D model of the entire school once we finish exploring the east and west wings.” Pidge said, never once tearing their eyes from the tablet in their hands.

Keith began to tug a little harder as their footfalls got louder and their faces closer.

“Cool! Man, maybe we should go looking for secret passages-“

The sudden drop off of Lance’s voice made Keith freeze. Damn. He’d been caught.

He looked up and met the gazes of three bewildered teens as they took him in.

“Uh. Hey.” Keith said.

Lance’s eyes only narrowed. “Keith? What the hell are you doing here?” Then he gasped and grabbed Keith by the shoulders. “Are you trying to steal our idea?!”

Keith tried to push Lance away without being too forceful. “No! I eat lunch here every day!”

Lance let go of his shoulders. “How do you know about this part of Voltron?”

Keith snorted. “Know? Everyone knows the school is huge.”

“I think what Lance means to say,” Pidge piped up, “Is why is it that you always come here?”

“Isn’t it spooky being here all alone?” Hunk asked.

Keith blinked. “Uhm… No. I used to come here all the time as a kid. I’m pretty familiar with this place.”

“Whatever man.” Lance muttered. His eyes drifted to the branch holding Keith in place. “Need help with that?”

Keith backed away from him. “No, I got this.” He tugged at the fabric but it wouldn’t budge.

Lance took a few steps towards him. “I dunno. You look like you could use a hand.”

          Keith turned his shoulder to block Lance and tugged harder. “I said I’m fine.”

Lance scooted around him and reached for the branch. “Dude, just accept my help –“

“I said, NO!” The fabric came free with a forceful tug and Keith stumbled. His foot caught on the edge of the arbor and he careened forwards.

Lance grabbed his shoulders to steady him, but his hands slipped against the fabric of Keith’s jacket and Keith smashed face first into his chest.

“Whoa, there.” Lance chuckled. “You alright, buddy?”

Keith pushed off of him and dusted himself off. “Fine. Just… Fine.”

“Well… Okay, then. See you at practice?” Lance scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Keith glanced up at him, surprised. “Practice?”

“You are coming back, right?” Lance said, narrowing his eyes.

Keith stared at him for a long moment before asking, “Why?”

“Why not?” Lance said back, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t it feel great to be apart of something bigger?”

“Bigger?” Keith repeated.

“You know, the rush of adrenaline, fighting for your team, goofing off with your teammates… Doesn’t that excite you?” Lance asked.

Keith thought about it. He’d never been apart of anything before. He closed his eyes and thought back to last practice, when Lance had been a complete dick. It had been mind bendingly infuriating, so much that it felt like a fire was ripping through his soul and he needed to throw something around. The rush of adrenaline. Laughing with his teammates when Lance failed at challenging him…

“It… Does.” Keith admitted.

“So why not stay?” Lance said, “Or are you too chicke-”

“I’ll join.” Keith interrupted.

“Ha! Thought so you-WAIT WHAT.”

“Really?” Pidge said, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, what have I got to lose?” Keith shrugged.

“Aw man! We got a new team member, that’s great!” Hunk said, scooping the three of them into a tight hug.

“Ugh, put me down man!” Lance whined. “I don’t wanna have my face shoved into Mullet’s mullet!”

Keith rolled his eyes and Hunk set them down.

“Besides, he’s not part of the team yet!” Lance declared.

Pidge narrowed their eyes at him and groaned, “What are you talking about, Lance?”

“He has to pass weight certs, of course!” Lance said.

* * *

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo as you saw, I drew a thing. Uploading it was a struggle but I managed. Imma try to do more in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I am very new to this someone save me.


End file.
